


Sooner or Later

by waterfallliam



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23000452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterfallliam/pseuds/waterfallliam
Summary: “Sooner or later I put everyone off. I mess up somehow and they hate me.”Rodney catastrophises and John has hidden depths.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	Sooner or Later

**Author's Note:**

> This practically wrote itself, and was then very moody in the edit. Unbeta'd. Hope you enjoy.

“Sooner or later I put everyone off. I mess up somehow and they hate me.”

John pauses outside the doorway to one of the smaller, out of the way labs where the light is on. He’s looking for Rodney, to drag him away from work by suggesting a movie or beer or something. Atlantis had let him into the labs, but now he thinks the door must actually have been locked because Rodney’s voice is unusually quiet and vulnerable.

“I don’t hate you and you’ve done _plenty_ to piss me off,” a female voice—Jeannie—points out. She’s visiting for a few days to collaborate on more wormhole equations. John likes Jeannie; she’s smart like Rodney, but more direct and affable. He’s glad that Rodney gets to be on good terms with her again.

“You’re my sister, you’re stuck with me.” There’s a shuffle and the sound of metal against metal, loud only because of the lack of any other noise. It’s rarely quiet enough that he can hear the hum of the computers they’d brought from Earth, let alone to pick out the distinct noises of the city ticking along beside it. The occasional faint bubble of the tanks is like breathing, the whoosh of the doors or the lapping waves more calming than the natural sounds of anywhere he’s previously lived.

Finding the labs so deserted, even at just past 21-oh-hundred on a weekday (though there’s normally less work and more play happening) is unusual _._ Radek might have ordered everyone to get out, wanting an early night for himself or just being tired of having to put up with Rodney all day.

The spell of the city’s gentle sounds breaks as Jeannie replies, and he thinks he really shouldn’t be listening to this. “I get what you’re saying Mer, but how much worse can it be than some of the things I’ve heard about, let alone what you’ve not told me?” There’s some more rustling, and—is that shushing?

John creeps away as silently as he can, preferring not to interrupt the conversation and to catch Rodney later, or better yet, wait until tomorrow. Then he can suggest spending the afternoon working together on the jumpers and offer to give him and Jeannie a tour of the city from the air.

“This is different. I think I might be in l—”

John winces as the door hisses open, grateful that it shuts behind him and stays that way as he very casually powerwalks down the corridor.

John tries to forget the conversation, clamping down on the part of him that wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Rodney and not let go, but bits of it come rushing back to him in the cafeteria the next day.

“What if I mess up?” Rodney says, concluding a nervous rant. “This is important to Teyla, I can’t mess up! She’ll hate me.”

“You were fine during rehearsals,” John reminds, trying to soothe Rodney’s anxiety. It’s the first yearly renewal ritual and festival on New Athos. He, Rodney and Elizabeth have all been asked to join in the former, as well as inviting anyone from the city who wishes to attend to the latter. John is especially looking forward to the part where Teyla sings, she has a lovely voice. Rodney will enjoy the large selection of meats and pastries, he’s sure, and Elizabeth has expressed a fondness for dancing, twinkle in her eye and everything.

“Yes, but that’s different, it doesn’t count,” Rodney huffs miserably, crossing his arms.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” John asks, internally wincing as he watches the panic that begins to grip Rodney’s eyes. “I mean, something goes wrong, it’s a bit embarrassing, but it’ll be okay because Teyla won’t mind so much. What’s important is that you’re there and you’re trying.”

“Are you mad? I’ll offend her and all of New Athos.”

John considers Rodney’s tendency to see the worst possible outcomes. It saves them in a tight spot, but he can become his own worst enemy at others, like when he’d been struck by the Ascension machine. Clear blue skies aren’t going to cut it now, though. “I’ll be there to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“What if I offend you, too?” Rodney slumps down further in his seat. He’s well on his way to a full-blown spiral—John needs to drag him back up for air now or he’s liable to sink into a funk for days. Rodney is his friend, he wants to help. Rodney is team, he needs to be able to trust that John has his back. More selfishly, he wants to be someone Rodney relies on, someone he needs as much as John needs him.

“You won’t,” John counters.

“How do you know that? How _can_ you know that?”

Okay, if Rodney wants to get objective. “Let’s do an experiment. Offend me and I’ll tell you if it makes me want to never speak to you again. Like a test run.”

“I should insult you?” Rodney makes his question sound like a statement, but the way his mouth stops slanting with displeasure is a sure sign that curiosity for where John is going with this is winning out over anxiety.

“Yeah. Do your worst.”

“Your hair is messy and your taste in music sucks.”

John frowns. “Rodney.”

“You said you wouldn’t be offended!”

“I’m not, it’s just… that’s the worst you can come up with?”

Rodney takes a few moments, then suddenly gets serious. “You have a really stupid habit of thinking suicide missions are a good idea.”

“I…” John supposes he literally is asking for it. Though it’s not exactly offensive, it does illustrate the point he’s trying to make. “That’s fair, though I would argue—”

“No arguing. That’s not part of the experiment, remember?”

“Fine,” John grinds out. Trust Rodney to try to co-opt this to his advantage now that he’s on board with it.

“Puddlejumper is still a worse name than gateship.”

“You’ve told me that before.” Rodney is wrong on that one, though. The puddlejumpers are sleek and overtly functional in design, but whimsical and brave in the way that an underdog is.

“We’re not going to be talking at the ritual,” Rodney points out.

“Okay, then talk me through what you think could go wrong.”

“What if I pour the tea wrong?”

“I’ll knock over the pot and do it worse,” John replies immediately, internally wincing because realistically they’d just both have to face Teyla’s disappointment if he does that.

“What if I say the words wrong?”

“Teyla will let you go again. And if you give me a hand signal,” John demonstrates the scuba diving sign for ‘something’s wrong’, holding his hand out as if to shake Rodney’s hand, but waving his fingers instead, and doesn’t miss the way Rodney’s eyes light up at being endowed into this oh so secret knowledge, “I’ll cause a diversion.”

“That’s… a sound strategy, Colonel.”

John nods, feeling very pleased with himself.

But Rodney swings back to worry. “What if I spill the tea all over you?”

“I won’t mind.”

“How can you be sure?” Rodney’s hands flutter about with the worry his body can’t contain.

“Try me,” John says. He twists around in his seat and grabs an abandoned jug of water from the next table. “Here.”

Rodney blinks. “Seriously?”

“Once you know what the worst that can happen is, it won’t be so bad, right?”

Sometimes it is so bad, and worse, with the Wraith bearing down on them; with who knows what waiting on the other side of the gate, the parts of missions that don’t make it onto their reports, the invisible injuries, the choices waiting in the future. But when it’s just them, just John and Rodney in Atlantis, it’s true enough.

Standing up and taking the jug in both hands, Rodney still looks unsure.

“It’s only a third full, it won’t make a huge mess,” John reassures.

He gets no further warning before tepid water hits the top of his head and streams down his face, remarkably uncomfortable as it runs down his back and chest beneath his shirt.

“See? No harm done.”

Rodney pokes his hair. “I wouldn’t say it’s improved.”

“Hey!” John shakes his head to fling water droplets at an unsuspecting Rodney.

“Oh, classy.” Rodney looks unimpressed with his childish behaviour but can’t stifle a snort.

“Still worried about the ceremony?”

“Yes,” Rodney says, putting the jug back and going to pick up his tray. “But not so badly anymore. It’d be kind of funny to see you be clumsy for once, actually.”

Crisis averted.

The ritual goes off almost without a hitch. In fact, the only person who flubs her lines is Elizabeth, who gets a bit lovestruck when Teyla enters in a beautiful blue and lilac dress. It’s not a big deal though, Teyla just smiles and waits for her to try again. After, the diplomatic thank-you-for-taking-parts and thank-you-for-letting-us-join-ins are especially heartfelt.

Then the space beneath the tent is quickly transformed into a dance floor of packed earth, surrounded by musicians and long tables for food, with grills and places to sit in groups further out. John diligently dances with Teyla and Elizabeth before excusing himself to the buffet.

“Colonel, try some of these,” Rodney says, pointing to a dish that looks like skewered meat, barbecued to perfection. There’s an ongoing stream of fresh delicacies being delivered from the open fire stone pits, where Athosians, Lanteans, and some other off-worlders are grilling, some of them far away enough from the tent to sing and talk without competing with the music. There are different songs for cooking with smoke and without, for slow roasting, for fish or livestock, and so on, Teyla had told him.

“S’good,” John says through a mouthful, licking his thumb and forefinger clean as he dumps the wooden stick in the recycling basket. All waste is either reused or composted, lightyears ahead of Earth’s sustainability record. The Athosians are constantly finding ways to reuse things they’d trade with Atlantis for in ways the expedition has never previously bothered to consider.

John picks up another skewer, this one interspersed with roast vegetables that taste like sweet potatoes, _yum_ , and watches Rodney dither between a bun with meat baked into its centre and glazed jerky.

“I’ll split the bun with you, if you want,” John offers.

Rodney does, and they eat in companionable silence as more people join the dancing. One of the Athosians has given Lorne a string of flowers to wear round his neck. He’s just latched onto the end of the conga line Radek and Jeannie started. It’s a good choice for her first off-world experience. Danger is a low as it gets, and the Athosians throw legendary parties. He’s even heard whispers that the there’s a fire dance performance planned when it gets dark. 

Ronon ambles up to them, already sweaty, the undone waistcoat he’s wearing as a shirt not hiding much. John’s suddenly glad he’d stuck to jeans and a linen button-down. “You want to come dance?”

John motions with his glass of something sweet. “In a bit.” He’d rather stay here and shoot the shit with Rodney.

“McKay? The drums have the best rhythms.” Ronon grins widely.

Rodney fumbles with his words, surprisingly vulnerable in the face of such a—John had thought—harmless question. Then Rodney wiggles his hand like John had showed him.

“McKay’s already promised me his first two dances,” John smirks. “Sorry.”

Ronon rolls his eyes. “Fine. Catch you later.” He leaves them with another grin.

John turns all his attention to Rodney, who’s putting down his plate and walking away from the main tent. John jogs to catch up, following him all the way to the edges of the gathering.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, staying between Rodney and the tent, reflexes kicking in. A threat is a threat, if it’s carrying guns or contained in words.

“Yes, it’s just—" Rodney stops and faces him, the set of his shoulders miserable. “I hated school dances. I was always by the buffet table, alone.”

He sighs and rushes on before John can get a word in. “I know it’s stupid, but it crept up on me. Suddenly I was fifteen again, with nothing except science making sense and everything so far away. I’ll be fine, I just need a minute.”

Rodney looks around them, as if properly taking where he’s walked off to for the first time. They’re not secluded or out of sight of the tent, but it’s private enough, with some foliage to act as a barrier. “You can go back if you want.”

John hesitates. “I’d rather wait it out with you.”

Rodney looks a mix between embarrassed and grateful. He shifts his weight, kicks at a few rocks and dislodges a stick, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His fingers tap out a pattern on his thighs, not a recurring one, but John remembers Jeannie saying something about piano lessons and the nervous habit he’s observed for years suddenly makes more sense.

“I didn’t dance much either,” John offers after a few minutes of this. “Didn’t ever have a date.”

Rodney looks up. “You? I don’t believe that.”

“I had braces. I hadn’t figured out how to ask for the right haircut,” John elaborates, not wanting to remember, but trying to explain. “I spent most of my time daydreaming.”

“About what?”

John shrugs. “Moving out. Flying.” Finally feeling free.

At school, his math notes had become doodles, the lines of his graphs going beyond the confines of the axis to become vectors of flight, filling his pages with exhaust fumes for tiny jets.

“I was always working,” Rodney says. “Skipped grades. Blah blah blah.” He forgoes his usual tangent of long explanations and anecdotes with a wave of his hand. Those dances must have been especially awkward, if everyone was older than him. “No one ever wanted to dance with me. Well. Ronon does now. There’s, uh, stuff on missions. And you.”

“I’ve got better moves than him,” John replies, and starts doing the robot, even making the _vreeee_ sound effects.

Rodney laughs, the fog of memory that had fallen over him lifting. John joins in, his ribs loosening with breathy laughter and the restored assurance that Rodney is okay.

“Hey, you know that experiment we did?” Rodney asks in a non-sequitur.

“Yeah.” John shifts his weight. It’s not alertness to danger, but general anticipation and anxiety that quicken the baseline of his heartbeat.

“Can I have one more?” Rodney asks.

“You’re not hiding a jug of water, are you?” John says, deflection as natural as turning his eyes away from looking directly at the sun.

“I’m serious.”

John licks his lips. What could be so bad?

Searching Rodney’s face, John knows there isn’t much Rodney could do that would break things between them irreparably. And most of those aren’t things that Rodney would actually do, it’s just not in his character. Trusting in Rodney the same way he trusts an airfoil to buoy him across the sky, John says, “Okay.”

Rodney sucks in a breath and steps closer to John. Indecision plays on his features but stops as he closes his hands around John’s upper arms, doing it slowly and deliberately.

Rodney smiles at him, and something inside of John stutters, spilling joy into his chest and limbs, warm and fizzy like he’s a can that’s been shaken. Before he can fully appreciate it, Rodney leans closer and presses his lips to John’s.

The kiss is brief and chaste. The pressure of Rodney’s lips is gentle yet confident before he steps back again. What Rodney says to him in the kiss is familiar, but the language is a new one for them. John needs a moment to process it; resists touching his fingers to his lips to check that really just happened.

“So?” Rodney asks, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

“Not offended,” John manages. He tries to say what he can’t with words and takes Rodney’s hands in his.

John leans in for another kiss, starting with Rodney’s bottom lip and slowly moving until the whole of his mouth is involved, testing the waters. As Rodney moves with him, he tastes the spicy meat of the bun, feels the rasp of his slightly chapped lips. It’s heady and perfect and over all too soon.

Resting their foreheads together, John smiles. The best ideas are always the ones they have together.

He hasn’t considered Rodney wanting him this way. It feels right, like falling into step beside each other to walk up the steps in the gate room on that first day so long ago. He hadn’t known then what the strange emotion in his stomach was, still doesn’t really know now, except that it’s there and it feels good and right and like how Rodney makes him feel, too.

Rodney must know, but John thinks he should say it anyway, even as the words struggle up his throat. “This is more than just a one-time thing for me.”

“I know. Me too.” Then Rodney kisses him again.

It’s rougher this time, tapping into something deeper than cautious surface level curiosity. Rodney crowds against John, boisterous and demanding as he keeps control. There’s a hand on his hip, large and safe, giving John something to press against as he changes the angle, a pressure valve to keep the moment contained, a precursor to what’s yet to come. Rodney holds him, keeps kissing him like it’s both a challenge and a gift.

It tugs at something inside John. Tension that he didn’t realise was there unwinds. Or maybe it’s been there so long he’s forgotten it could ever be different.

Rodney beams when they break apart again and twists his hands until he can drag John along and back towards the tent. “You owe me two dances, whatever that means.”

“You missed the night we watched Pride and Prejudice _._ ” As they approach the tent, he sees Elizabeth teaching Ronon the ketchup song dance.

At Rodney’s confused look, he explains. “Ronon was curious about courting rituals on Earth. Carson wanted something historic.” Even Teyla had looked impressed at his diplomatic handling of that brewing argument.

Rodney snorts. “So when Ronon decides to pursue an unsuspecting marine or scientist, it’ll be with letters and proposals in the rain?”

“Don’t forget all the broody staring out of windows,” John adds. Atlantis has plenty of great spots for that.

Another tug as his hand just makes him walk slower, warmth unfolding in his chest at how unthinkingly obvious Rodney is being. No one will mind here, worlds away in distance and thought from Earth. If they do, John is finally ready it for it, trepidation and remnants of shame and anger and all. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Rodney, with his team, he feels just about ready for anything.

Back under the tent, Ronon waves at them far more enthusiastically than they wave back. Teyla meanwhile has peeled off with Elizabeth. “So, what other moves have you got?” Rodney asks.

John grins and starts shuffling across the ground in a perfect moonwalk, Rodney laughing as he follows.


End file.
